Allison parked the Austin on High Street, the main thoroughfare connecting Port Strathy proper with New Town, right across from one of its two public houses. The second stood at the other end of the street. She remained in the car, hoping that somehow Mr. Macintyre would make an appearance so she would be spared having to get out and go hunting around for him.
She had been shopping in the Mercantile when her mother had called. The tractor had broken down and neither the men, Nat, nor Alec could get it operational again as they usually managed to do. And since they could afford to lose no more time with the spring planting, she asked Allison to inquire about town and try to find Mr. Macintyre. Would he be interested, she was told to ask him, in being of further service to them, at a fair wage this time?
When the call ended, Allison slammed down the receiver and stormed out of the store without a single word of explanation to Miss Sinclair. Now she was a common errand girl! She had her own plans. It was early, her mother said, and there was sufficient time for her to deliver Mr. Macintyre and still meet Sarah Bramford. But the whole thing nevertheless upset her—even if her mother did promise to call the Bramfords to inform them she would be a little late.
The only hope was that this errand might afford her an opportunity to better acquaint herself with the mysterious Logan Macintyre. Though after the revelation of his common heritage the other night, she wondered why she even wanted to bother. The great-nephew of a groom! Really, she had better prospects than that!
But there was something incongruous about him . . . an intriguing side. He was no dolt, however common his heritage. He carried himself with aplomb. If she hadn’t known his background, she would have been rather proud to display him to her friends. And that unique accent, with just a hint of Scots tempered with the genteel London sound—it all came off rather pleasantly.
It was irksome how he all but ignored her. The rest of the family had, of course, monopolized him shamefully. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault. Who could tell but that he had been attracted to her, had even wanted to speak to her, but had been unable to in the awkward surroundings of a family dinner?
Maybe she could turn this inconvenient request of her mother’s to her own advantage after all!
At the Bluster ’N Blow, however, Allison’s inquiries were met with a shake of the head. “Came in last night,” said Cobden, “wi’oot e’en informin’ me he wasna plannin’ t’ be here fer dinner. Came in late, passed the time wi’ the few customers I had at the time, then went t’ his room, an’ a few minutes later was back in new duds, an’ then was gone t’ the New Toon—jist like that. I dinna think he e’en came back fer the night.”
“That was last night, Mr. Cobden,” said Allison impatiently. “What about today?”
“I’ ain’t seen him since.”
“He hasn’t left town?”
“Na, na,” the innkeeper shook his head. “His gear’s all still here.”
Allison waited to hear no more. Without a word of thanks, she bounded from the inn and set out for New Town, where she now sat, growing more irritable with each passing moment. After observing the deserted streets for about as long as she could stand, she was about to get out and head for one of the pubs, when the door she had been watching opened and several figures ambled out.
There could be no doubt that one was the man she sought. That checkered cap of his was pushed well back on his head and his face sported a day or two’s growth of beard. His suit, which might at one time have been a fine one, was wrinkled with a long night of wear. In his mouth he sported a cigar, which he appeared to be enjoying immensely. With him were three or four locals. They were all laughing, but with their eyes squinting against the glare of the sun, looking brashly out of place on a sunny Saturday morning.
Allison stepped out of the Austin and approached waving to him. “Mr. Macintyre,” she called in a tight voice, taking no pains to conceal her contempt.
Logan looked up, removed the cigar, and smiled. Well, at least there was nothing wrong with his smile, thought Allison. Why did everything else about him have to be so entirely wrong?
“Why, Miss MacNeil,” he said, “this is a pleasure. What brings you out on a fine morning like this?”
She could not tell whether his joviality was from being drunk or from simple high spirits. “I was looking for you,” she replied coolly.
“Ah,” he intoned, with a knowing glance and a wink to one of the other men, “can I be of further assistance to your family, or to yourself perhaps?”
Before she could answer, the men with Logan began to wave and call out. At first she thought the commotion was directed at her. But to her even greater chagrin, she then realized they had hardly noticed her at all, and were instead calling to a woman crossing from the other side of the street.
“Mornin’, Liz,” said one of Logan’s cronies.
“Hello, Jimmy . . . boys,” the woman replied. As she approached and greeted them, her eyes strayed to the newcomer as she appraised him with a thoughtful smile.
It took all the self-restraint Allison could muster to keep her snort of disgust to herself. Wasn’t that just like Liz Doohan, Patty’s elder sister? Dressed in a simple cotton frock and maroon cloth coat that clashed dreadfully with her red hair, she looked frumpy but may have been pretty a few years earlier. But working women aged faster than most, and it hardly became her now to flirt with men right out on the street. For all her caustic notions of superiority, Allison would no doubt have been surprised to know that Liz Doohan was but twenty-six.
A lively banter had sprung up between Logan’s small group and Liz, who was now being told by Logan’s shipmates of the previous day and how well their young friend from London had taken to the sea, mercifully omitting his adventure in the water. Allison’s presence had been altogether forgotten.
“Am I the only one who has t’ work t’day?” asked Liz with a mock pout.
“Grounded fer repairs,” answered Jimmy.
“An’ the weather’s so cockeyed,” added Buckie, “that another storm could blow in on us afore noon.”
“Mr. Macintyre,” interrupted Allison, approaching with a huffy gait. “If you don’t mind . . .”
“Oh, Miss MacNeil. What was it you were wanting?”
He may not have intended for his tone to sound condescending, but in her present mood Allison could hardly interpret it as otherwise.
“There is trouble with our tractor,” she answered, rankled even further by the turn of events, “and we would like to employ your services.” She emphasized the word so there could be no possible mistaking her own patronizing attitude.
“Glad to be of assistance,” he replied good-naturedly.
“It is rather pressing. Do you suppose you can tear yourself away?”
He turned to his friends. “Duty calls,” he said. “I’ll give you a chance to get even tonight.”
“Ye deserve the win,” said Buckie with a laugh. “Especially after yer day yesterday.”
“But we willna begrudge ye yer offer,” laughed Jimmy.
“It was nice t’ meet ye, Logan,” purred Liz; “maybe I’ll see ye aroun’ again . . . ?”
“No doubt,” he answered with a noncommittal grin.
Finally, with the fishers all slapping Logan fraternally on the back as if they had known him for years, they parted company.
Allison drove Logan back to the inn for a change of clothes, saying hardly a word. She dropped him off, then returned to the Mercantile for something she had forgotten as a result of her agitated departure from the store after her mother’s call. Why she was so angry she could not exactly say. Was it because he had tramped about all night in the most disreputable section of town? Or because he persisted in humoring her as if she were nothing but a child? Or was the real reason that she wanted to be noticed like he had noticed Liz Doohan? That she could never admit! Liz was . . . a nobody. How could he pay more attention to her than to an heiress like herself! He must be blind to the way things really were!
And I had entertained ideas of presenting him to my friends. Never! He’ll have to beg first!
At the thought, a sly smile crept across Allison’s lips. Perhaps that was not such a bad idea. In fact, it would be rather splendid to have that arrogant southerner groveling at her feet. Of course, she’d turn him down flat. But what a pleasure it would be!
Returning to the inn, she found Logan outside leaning casually against a post, arms folded across his chest. The manner in which he surveyed the town gave every impression that he thought he owned the place. His face was shaven and one could hardly tell he had been awake all night.
All at once Allison realized that while his self-assured, I-don’t-need-anyone manner irritated her, in an odd sort of way it drew her, too. One could not help being attracted to someone so independent. Wasn’t that the very thing she herself wanted to be?
Considering the matter further, she decided that after she had him begging, she might grant him the privilege of her attentions—for a while, at least. There could be nothing permanent, of course. He didn’t have the blood to match her breeding.